trying to call home
by BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: She tries, so hard, but the truth is– motherhood is not something she wears well. #5 in Bay-verse. Highly suggest going in order.


**God, so, I've been feeling extremely motivated, I suppose. And I was up writing last night. So you get this!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own THG or Payphone...sigh. Life just isn't worth living without those things. ;P**

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**_commence_**

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**XxXxXxX**

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"Would you just shut up?"

Bay's eyes widen at the harsh tone, her screams increase, and Clove suddenly wishes that she wasn't home alone with her. Cato had wormed his way out of his classes at the Academy for almost a month, claiming pneumonia, but she had just that morning forced him out the door, instructing him to not return until dinnertime, because goddammit, his hovering was unbearable. But, _fuck_, this is worse, and singing does nothing now, apparently it only works in the wee hours of the morning.

She jiggles Bay in her arms and says, "God, Bay, I didn't mean it, I –come on, baby, just, _please_, be quiet?"

The infant thrashes, fighting her mother's hold with surprising strength, and she wonders why any woman would ever find…_this_ appealing, this whole mothering thing attractive. And she hates herself for it, but she's tired, all the goddamn time, and she just wishes that she wasn't forced into this role, that Bay had a different mother, one that could figure out how to comfort her.

She uses one hand to undo a couple of the buttons of the old shirt she's wearing (the shirt's Cato's, she thinks, but honestly, it's not for sentimental reasons, because it's not like she misses him or anything –it's just loose and easy to open to nurse Bay), but Bay won't latch, and she's not sure what else to do; she's changed her three times, even though it wasn't necessary any of the times, she just thought it'd help –it didn't, by the way– and she's rocked her, sung to her, did that skin-to-skin thing that one of the books recommended, but Bay keeps crying.

She wants to scream along with her, at this point.

But she won't, because she's a fucking Career, and she's not going to be broken by a baby, especially not by this tiny thing (she's only six and a half pounds, at a month, something that probably should be worrisome…).

She leans Bay up against her shoulder and bounces, patting her back in time with her steps as she wanders into the kitchen. She'd love to practice her throwing, just to let off a little steam, but Cato was adamant about not throwing any knives with Bay in the room, and she supposes she'd feel a little guilty if she left her wailing daughter alone in another room, and, god, motherhood seems to be all about sacrifice, doesn't it?

And suddenly she just…can't deal with this, with any of this, and she has to put Bay down in her crib, in her nursery, and she goes into her room and just curls in on herself. She's not even seventeen, can barely care for herself (Cato's usually the one to remind her to eat), she can't fucking deal with a baby, with her baby, and she feels like she's ripping apart at the seams –she _wants _to be a good mother, wants to be everything for Bay that her own mother was not for her, but she sucks at it, plain and simple. She can't be all of this for her, can't be the girl Cato seems to want for their daughter, for him.

She gets up abruptly, wincing as her too-full breasts protest at the sharp movement, and reaches under her bed for the old, battered blue bag.

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**XxXxXxX**

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She leaves out the backdoor, just as Cato's entering through the front door, no doubt pausing to take in the mess of the living room and kitchen and dining room –basically the entire first floor, really. Bay quieted a little earlier, but she hears her start up again, and she can hear Cato calling her name as he walks up the stairs.

She backs away from the house quickly.

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**XxXxXxX**

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The first night is blissfully quiet. She revels in it. Embraces it. Absolutely loves it. Any guilt she may have been feeling, she pushes it away as she falls into the decent bed of the motel she's at. It's quiet, and cool, and, god, she's got an entire bed to herself again. She falls asleep immediately.

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**XxXxXxX**

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She wakes up after sixteen hours of solid, quiet, uninterrupted sleep. And she's never felt better. _Ever_. There's a diner downstairs that she orders in from, and she thinks that this is the first meal she's eaten without a baby hanging off of her in, like, two months.

Two freaking months.

And it's awesome. Amazing. Fantastic.

...She's not sure she can come up with more adjectives.

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**XxXxXxX**

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By the third day, guilt has set in. Amazingly intense guilt, that suffocates her, and when she lies down to nap or something, all she hears is Bay, screaming or laughing or making that gurgling sound that is kind of adorable and kind of disgusting, all at the same time. And, yeah, she misses Cato, a lot, and she wants to kiss him and hold him and just be with him, but she doesn't miss him with the same piercing intensity that she misses her daughter with.

It's like she's missing a limb, something vital (maybe her heart, if she had one of those), and she wants it –no, _needs_ it back. But Bay, she reminds herself, is much better off without her. She rolls over in bed and hugs an extra pillow to her chest, finds that if she holds it just so, it almost feels like she's holding Bay to her.

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**XxXxXxX**

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The following week, she's ducking Cato's calls. He must have figured out where she was, because the phone in the motel room is always ringing. She sleeps through it at night, but during the day, it's incessant. She's surprised he hasn't just shown up at her door, like he did when she was pregnant. She tapes a pillow around the phone and learns to ignore the muffled ringing.

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**XxXxXxX**

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Finally, nine days after she left, she can't take it anymore. She's already had her fair share of nightmares since having Bay, generally involving her being Reaped and killed and her and Cato having to watch.

But, this time, she bolts awake, heart pounding and palms clammy, and she's not sure what has caused such a reaction, but she has this terrible feeling that she's never going to see her daughter, her little girl again.

She rips the pillow off the phone and calls home.

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**XxXxXxX**

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She calls, once a day, for another two days, with no answer, and it's breaking her apart. She just wants to hold her daughter, wants her close like it should be. Finally, she decides that she ought not be scared of going home, and stops calling, just grabs her things and returns to where she's supposed to be.

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**XxXxXxX**

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She can see Cato bouncing Bay through the living room window. He's facing the kitchen, so all she can see is his profile and the top of Bay's head, but he looks exhausted. And the look of hopelessness on his face is so agonizingly recognizable; she thinks that she's been really fucking selfish. She doesn't knock, doesn't wait for him to see her, just walks in and drops her bag by the door, takes the baby from him and murmurs, "Go to bed."

He doesn't argue, but she can tell that he's literally biting his tongue. She figures that there will be a confrontation, a fight later, but right now, she's focused solely on her daughter, on memorizing her face, her perfect, gorgeous face, and Cato doesn't intrude on the moment, just shuffles up the stairs. Ten minutes later, she can hear him snoring.

Bay snuggles closer to her.

She runs a hand over her daughter's dark head and sighs. She might not be great at this, but then again, her daughter can't really tell the difference, now, can she?

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**XxXxXxX**

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_**fin**_

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**And, it's done. Yay! I hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
